Tears of Ice
by Illisandria Carthain
Summary: The duality of Simon Petrikov, like light refracting in ice crystals; like the light reflecting off the gems of the Crown that binds him like a shackle.


My name is Simon Petrikov; that's what is says on the books I carry, "Property of Simon Petrikov", so it must be my name. At least, that's what I hope...

It's so hard to hold on to things now, they slip like slush in between my fingers when I focus on them. Little things are already gone: my mother's face (did I have a mother?), my favourite colour (was it the white of fresh-fallen snow?) my home (did I live in a castle of crystal ice, like glass, set on a large mountain in the north?), places and people (were there ever people? have I always been alone?), and even my name. Soon there will be nothing but ice in the tundra of my mind and Simon Petrikov will disappear into a blizzard and be no more. All that will remain are books with Simon's name on them and a videotape of the terrible mistake he made, putting on the Crown of Frost.

I/Simon hate the Crown! It pulls me/him in, no matter how hard I/Simon try to resist it. It whispers to me/him in the night when I/Simon am my/his most silent, whispers of the secrets of the cold and the frost, that I/Simon will far outlive any other humans (should there be any alive after the Mushrooms of Fire and Heat blossomed in the sky everywhere) and that I/Simon have a far greater destiny than to die in a blaze of Fire and Heat. It whispers to me/him a new name, one worthy of its presence: Ice King.

I/Simon/Ice King try to hold on to the little things, like the warm feeling of cocoa when it slips down your oesophagus; how nice it felt to wrap up in a blanket in the cold of night; the feeling of someone hugging you, their arms wrapping around you as you absorb their warmth, starved for human contact. It's a pity that all that's left are the ruins from the Mushrooms, and the mutants.

I/Simon/Ice King try to forget all this as I/Simon/Ice King travel the burned-up terrain in search of...someone? I/Simon/Ice King can't remember what I/Simon/Ice King am looking for. It makes me/him/us sad, loosing the little things. Regardless of my/his/our memory faults, I/Simon/Ice King trek on.

I/Simon/Ice King am climbing over rubble from some place called "Radio City Music Hall" when I/Simon/Ice King hear a plaintive wail, piercing the stagnant silence with extreme clarity.

A memory knocks me/him/us almost off my/his/our feet: a woman (Betty? My princess?) and a child. Screams and wails (Shh, she's just hungry) food, no stop (sleepy) rocking, no stop (sad) a bear—button eyes and stitched smile—stop. Silence. Happy, so happy (I love you two). Love and happy and together (ICE!).

Focusing back on the crying, I/Simon/Ice King locate a small girl, fangs poking from her mouth; wiping tears away in the rubble. She's okay! She's okay...

I/Simon/Ice King look around (sleepy? hungry? sad?) where can I/Simon/Ice King find a bear (button eyes and stitched smile) for this girl? A piece of rubble catches my/his/our eye: "F.A.O. Schwartz". I/Simon/Ice King wade through broken pieces of wall to reach this store. Fishing through cracked dolls and broken cars, I/Simon/Ice King find a bear (button eyes and stitched smile) and give it to her.

"Here," I/Simon/Ice King say in a voice I/Simon/Ice King haven't used in so, so long. "For you."

The girl smiles and wipes away a tear (oh how that emotion could be frozen and preserved were it not for salt water) "Thanks," she murmurs.

"What's your name?" I/Simon/Ice King kneel close to her, cocking my head as I/Simon/Ice King wait for an answer.

"Marceline," she says shyly, hugging the bear (button eyes and stitched smile) close to her chest. "What's yours?"

I/Simon/Ice King pause, thinking about it (who am I/Simon/Ice King? Simon Petrikov? The Ice King? Who?) and finally answer, "Simon. My name's Simon."

"Thanks Simon...," Marceline smiles at me/him/us and a warmth, a warmth I/Simon/Ice King haven't felt for so long, fills my/his/our chest.

"You're welcome Marceline."

(oh precious memories, for them to freeze so that you can treasure them forever, pity it never works)


End file.
